


lemon, cream, lick

by negi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Face-Fucking, M/M, Teasing, implied casual sexual relationships, slight food play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 20:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17629523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negi/pseuds/negi
Summary: Doyoung just wants to bake a cake in peace.





	lemon, cream, lick

**Author's Note:**

> happy doie day!!

In the days leading up to his birthday, Doyoung always grows a sweet tooth. He enjoys desserts when they’re convenient to grab (or better yet, placed right in front of him), but he never quite craves sugary delights on a normal basis like he does in the dwindling days of January. One of his earliest fond memories is of walking to different bakeries with his brother every day for a week just to split a slice of cake from each one without their parents knowing, and that’s probably why he views treats as so integral to this time of year, if he wants to get introspective about it. But at the moment, all Doyoung cares about is strawberries and buttercream.

He notices Taeyong pass by the entryway to the kitchen from the corner of his eye, then watches him backtrack and stare curiously inside.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong asks.

“Baking a cake,” Doyoung says, clicking his tongue in annoyance when he gets flour on his phone screen as he tries to scroll through the ingredients of a lemon chiffon recipe.

Taeyong’s mouth opens and closes, then opens again. “You know tomorrow’s your birthday, right? You’ll get a cake. I’m not supposed to tell you that, but we always get cakes. It’s never a surprise - _especially_ in February.”

Doyoung hums in acknowledgement while fetching a carton of eggs from the fridge and counting how many he’ll need. “I just feel like making one on my own,” he says, setting the eggs aside and grabbing a bowl to crack them into. “I’ve never made a cake before, can you believe it? 23 and a cake virgin. It makes no sense because it’s definitely something I’d be amazing at.”

Taeyong snorts and nudges Doyoung’s cheek with a knuckle. “Need any help?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m good,” Doyoung mumbles, squinting at the ingredients spread out on the counter. A few seconds later he recalls, “Ah, the strawberries.” He turns towards the sink where he'd left them to see Taeyong already plucking a ripe red berry from its container and popping it into his mouth. _“Hyung,”_ Doyoung whines, grabbing for the plastic box.

Taeyong easily slips out of Doyoung’s reach and presses his back to a wall. “What, were you gonna use these?” he asks nonchalantly, picking out another picturesque morsel.

 _“Yes,_ I’m going to use them,” Doyoung huffs. “I washed them for a reason.” He begins to corner Taeyong, but the tiny fucker slips away again. This time he hops up onto a countertop and sits casually, legs swinging beneath him, and Doyoung quickly braces his hands on either side of Taeyong’s hips to trap him in place. “Hand ‘em over,” he says.

Taeyong brings the strawberry still in his grasp up to his mouth, keeping lazy eye contact with Doyoung as he gently sets the fruit between his teeth. His glossed lips shine almost as much as the wet berry nestled between them and Taeyong makes no move to bite down, not even when a small droplet of water drips from the strawberry onto his chin, slowly trickling down towards his throat.

Doyoung sighs.

He cranes his neck up and tilts his head, pressing his teeth into the flesh of the fruit and feeling a refreshing burst as it breaks. They both take half of the strawberry and slide their lips together as juice dribbles messily from their mouths. The sounds of drinking and swallowing merge into a wet kiss that Taeyong quickly deepens with guiding hands on Doyoung’s cheeks, sharing a sweet taste between their tongues with a lingering sour spike following not far behind. When they finally pull apart, Taeyong licks at his lips and wiggles his brows, and Doyoung rolls his eyes as he pushes away from the counter.

Taeyong sets himself back onto the floor and hands Doyoung the strawberries. As Doyoung takes them, Taeyong grips the collar of his shirt and pulls him down just enough to lick at a trail of juice beneath his chin. “Have fun with your cake,” he says with a grin.  
  
  
  
  
Face thoroughly cleaned, Doyoung returns to rationing out his ingredients. He’s just sifted the dry portion together when Ten bounds into the room on an apparent after-practice high, cheeks pink and a hop in his small step. He ignores Doyoung in favor of chugging an entire glass of water, but soon he turns towards his bandmate with curious, twinkling eyes.

“Are you cooking?” he asks, wiping his mouth on his bare arm and fanning the hem of his cropped shirt against his sweaty torso. 

“Baking,” Doyoung says as he begins to carefully separate egg yolks from their whites.

“Same thing.”

“It is _not_ \-- never mind. Don’t you want to shower or something?” He doesn’t particularly trust Ten in the kitchen, especially not after the stunt Taeyong - Ten’s go-to partner in crime - just pulled.

“I will,” Ten says, but he stays put and continues to watch Doyoung prepare the eggs by shifting yolks back and forth between two halves of shell and letting the whites drip away. On the last egg, he pipes up, “That looks fun. Lemme try.” He gathers into Doyoung’s personal space, slick, heated skin brushing against Doyoung’s arm, and reaches for the lone egg at the same time that Doyoung does. The combined force of their grabs crushes the fragile shell and a slimey mess oozes out over their hands, coating their fingers in yellow and muck. 

Doyoung looks at Ten, unamused.

“Oops,” Ten laughs sheepishly. He retracts his hand from the egg bowl and without a second thought, wipes his palm on Doyoung’s T-shirt.

Doyoung stares in appalled silence before a _“Hey!”_ finally bubbles up from his throat.

Ten blinks. “What? It’s just one of those old shirts you wear when you’re being lazy around the house.” He continues wiping his hand clean on Doyoung’s shirt until Doyoung seizes his wrist.

“That doesn’t mean you can just-- Jesus, Ten.” Doyoung looks down in disgust at the damp gunk on his shirt and grimaces at the cold beginning to seep through to his skin. He takes a pinch of flour and sugar mixture and flicks it at the front of Ten’s black shirt, white powder clearly visible against the contrasting color of the fabric. “Is this okay just because that’s an old shirt you practice in?”

Ten shrugs. “Sure. It’ll wash out.”

Doyoung releases Ten’s wrist and looks around for a cloth to wipe his own hand on, muttering something along the lines of _“Carefree little weirdo,”_ but before he can find one, Ten takes his forearm and guides Doyoung’s mess to his own shirt. He purposely smears the yolk across his top, hem inching up as Doyoung involuntarily soils the black garment even further and bunches it at Ten’s chest.

“Now we’re even,” Ten says with a grin. When Doyoung’s hand is at least a little less sticky than before, Ten lets go of his arm then peels his dirty shirt right off in the middle of the kitchen.

“This can’t be sanitary,” Doyoung mutters, but Ten just reaches forward and hastily yanks off Doyoung’s shirt as well, eliciting an exasperated yelp. _“Ten.”_

Ten laughs and crumples both shirts into a ball. “Are you shy?”

“I’m _cold.”_ Doyoung crosses his arms protectively and glances at the doorway, but Ten blocks his path and is the perfect height to peek at Doyoung’s chest.

“Oh, you are.” He peels Doyoung’s arms away and immediately brings his mouth around one of Doyoung’s pert nipples, warm lips wrapping securely around the pink nub. Doyoung gasps and grips Ten’s shoulders, but he doesn’t shove him away. Ten notices this and smiles into Doyoung’s chest, swirling his tongue around the nipple on a long, heated exhale and giving it a quick suck before bringing the same attention to the other. The moment doesn’t last long, but Ten’s tongue never needs long to do its job and do it well.

Wiping his mouth on his arm again, Ten looks up at Doyoung and asks, “Better?”

Doyoung can only rub at his temple as Ten turns on his heel and finally heads out of the kitchen for a shower.  
  
  
  
  
Clad in a fresh shirt, Doyoung has just finished zesting a lemon when Jungwoo wanders into the kitchen, evidently bored and looking for attention. Doyoung unfortunately gives in to Jungwoo’s neediness too easily and lets him stick around despite his past two encounters ending up extremely detrimental to his baking progress. As he finishes whisking zest into the wet ingredients, he decides to humor his guest, whom he reasons is at least a little more trustworthy than Ten. Sometimes.

“There are aprons in the far cabinet over there,” he suggests in case his cleanly friend wants to do something besides watch, and Jungwoo takes him up on the offer-- though, not in the way Doyoung had expected. He doesn’t hold back a laugh when Jungwoo returns to his side wearing a frilly pink apron that Yuta had bought Taeyong as a gag gift for Secret Santa a couple Christmases ago. “You like that one?” he asks good-naturedly.

“I think it’s nice,” Jungwoo says, toying with a large bow on the front pocket.

“Yeah, it looks good,” Doyoung says with a smile. “Here.” He hands Jungwoo the bowl of dry ingredients and a rubber spatula. “Hold the bowl steady and mix slowly while I add the wet ingredients.”

Jungwoo nods and carefully moves the spatula around his bowl, but his technique doesn’t do much in the way of incorporating both mixtures together well. Once Doyoung’s bowl is empty, he sets it aside to stand behind Jungwoo for a better angle and begins guiding his arm around in a more efficient set of strokes.

“Do it like this,” he says. “Make sure to get around the sides, too.”

Jungwoo makes a small, cute sound of affirmation that urges Doyoung to ruffle his hair affectionately. His mixing is still a bit awkward but everything is slowly yet surely combining with the occasional guidance from Doyoung, still reaching around Jungwoo from behind. “Am I doing okay?” Jungwoo eventually asks, turning his head enough to glance at Doyoung.

“Yeah, it’s getting there,” Doyoung says encouragingly, patting Jungwoo’s hip.

Jungwoo smiles and leans back against Doyoung, pressing into him warmly. Doyoung’s hand on his hip tightens for a moment before relaxing when Jungwoo leans forward and returns to mixing. The relief proves short-lived, though, because Jungwoo seamlessly blends natural shifts of his body weight with small gyrations back against Doyoung’s crotch every half minute or so and the effortless, almost unrecognizable toying is infuriating.

“I think it’s mixed enough,” Doyoung says through a thick swallow.

Jungwoo arches his back into this one, not bothering to hide how he grinds down on Doyoung's semi. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice soft and pretty, and Doyoung kind of wants to say no but he also really doesn’t want overworked batter.

“You’re good,” he says, gently urging Jungwoo’s hand away from the bowl.

“Can I lick the spatula?” Jungwoo asks, pink tongue already poking out from his lips.

“That’s not a good idea,” Doyoung says quickly. “Um. Raw eggs.”

Jungwoo pouts but sets the spatula aside. He finally turns around, giving Doyoung’s front a break, and the frilly apron swishing around his thighs projects a deceitful air of innocence when he says, “Thank you for letting me help, hyung.”  
  
  
  
  
Doyoung makes quick work of folding beaten egg whites into his batter and gently pours the final mixture into a pan, determined to get this cake in the oven before another interruption. He ultimately wanders to his bed and dozes for the better part of an hour until his phone alerts him of the time and he makes his way back into the kitchen to check on the cake’s progress. Fresh smells of lemon and cooked sugar raise his spirits and he’s just bent over at the waist to observe the cake through the oven door when he almost smashes face first into the glass at the sudden smack of firm hands against his ass.

_“Johnny?”_

“Hey,” Johnny says with a friendly smile, as if his hands aren’t still pressed to Doyoung’s backside. “I thought I smelled something good in here.”

Doyoung stands up straight and side steps away from Johnny’s towering form, making a detour to the buttercream ingredients still set aside. “I’m baking a cake,” he says, hyper aware of Johnny following him closely.

“Oh, I’ve never had cake made by you before,” Johnny says, charming smile gracing his features. “Can I try some later? Just a little?” He clasps his hands in front of him, begging, and Doyoung can’t help but grow soft at how he tries to shrink his large frame into a smaller posture.

“Of course,” Doyoung says. “Are you okay with lemon?”

Johnny grins and snakes his arms around Doyoung’s waist, chin coming down to rest atop a broad shoulder. “I like it zesty.”

Now Doyoung is hyper aware of Johnny’s hips pressed flush against his ass, a familiar weight nudging into the loose fabric of his sweatpants. The oven beeps and Doyoung’s gasp comes out strangled. Johnny releases his hold just long enough for Doyoung to set the cake aside to cool, then he’s back to none-too-subtly reminding Doyoung how well they can fit together, glued to Doyoung’s cheeks until the buttercream is ready for piping. Doyoung spoons the buttercream into a pastry bag and squirms.

“Johnny, I need to see if the cake is still warm,” he mumbles.

Johnny hums and nuzzles the back of Doyoung’s neck.

“I kind of need to be able to walk over to the cake.”

Another hum, followed by a kiss to an earlobe.

“Johnny.”

A sudden thrust of hips and Doyoung jolts in surprise, accidentally squeezing cream through the piping bag’s star tip and across his knuckles. _“Johnny.”_

An infectious laugh rings in Doyoung’s ear and Johnny gives his ass another squeeze before gently urging Doyoung in the direction of the cooling cake. “Don’t forget to give me some later,” he says, innuendo clearly sent across the room through the blowing of a kiss.  
  
  
  
  
The cake is halfway frosted when Yuta shows up, as he often does right before food gets served (a sixth sense, if you ask him about it). He predictably swipes some leftover buttercream from its mixing bowl and hums so happily that Doyoung feels pride swell in his chest.

“Holy shit, Dons, this is amazing.”

Doyoung smiles and waves his offset spatula in Yuta’s direction. “I should have enough here so you can eat whatever you want,” he says.

“Whatever I want?” Yuta clarifies, and had Doyoung not been paying too much attention to an accidental finger imprint in his frosting, he might have noticed the trademark coyness in Yuta’s voice.

“Mm,” he answers instead, and he just about stabs right through the cake when he feels a cold glob smear along his cheek. He jerks away from the counter and blinks at Yuta, who is staring back at him with buttercream coating two of his fingers.

“You said,” Yuta taunts, smirk tugging at his lips. Before Doyoung can clarify that he obviously meant to eat the buttercream and not _him_ , Yuta leans in and presses his tongue to Doyoung’s cheek, licking away the frosting with an unnecessary hum. He pulls back just enough to swipe more cream across Doyoung lips then leads Doyoung in a kiss, messy and sugary and lazily slow. Yuta pushes his sweet tongue into Doyoung’s mouth and sucks his lips clean and Doyoung has to set down his spatula to ground himself against the counter behind him. With his clean hand Yuta holds Doyoung’s thin waist close, never giving himself more room that what’s needed to dirty Doyoung up - frosting on his chin, his jaw, his neck - before taking his time mouthing everything off. After sucking at the dip of Doyoung’s collar bones until it glares red, Yuta finally steps back and licks his own fingers clean.

“Delicious,” he says, and Doyoung sags against the cabinets.  
  
  
  
  
Despite the many obstacles that day, Doyoung finally finishes his cake with an hour to spare before the members will start roaming around the dining room in search of someone willing to cook that evening. He admires his handiwork - a little imperfect, but rustic is totally trendy right now - and nods in satisfaction. His strawberry-adorned lemon chiffon is quite passable enough to be regaled as his very first homemade cake. He’s busy snapping photos of his creation when he hears footsteps behind him and he sighs low in his throat.

“What now?” he asks, turning to see Jaehyun padding gently into the kitchen. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweats and the collar of his loose shirt favors one shoulder, and the curious tilt of his head lends an absolutely innocuous look to his entrance.

“I was gonna grab a juice box,” Jaehyun says hesitantly. “What’s up with you?”

Doyoung relaxes his posture. “Sorry,” he says. “I just-- look at this cake. Isn’t it pretty damn beautiful?”

“Sure,” Jaehyun nods.

“It is!” Doyoung asserts, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s all I ever wanted! I fought a battle for it today, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun reaches into the fridge and pulls out a tiny carton of apple juice. “Sounds tough.”

Doyoung watches Jaehyun drink and drums his fingers on the countertop, expression slowly morphing into a leery squint. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

Jaehyun hides a smile behind his juice, but his dimples indent his cheeks in amusement. “Do you want me to do anything?”

Doyoung gestures at his cake. “I mean, it’s a great cake. You agreed with me.”

Jaehyun nods. “It looks really good,” he says. He finishes his drink and tosses the small box into the recycling bin. His thumb swipes over his plush lower lip and Doyoung watches him with feigned indignation. “Looks tasty.”

“Everyone else thinks so,” Doyoung says, crossing his arms. “They couldn’t get enough of it the whole time I was baking.”

Jaehyun crosses the kitchen and stands in front of Doyoung. “Must be some cake,” he acknowledges.

Doyoung sighs dramatically and rubs at the back of his neck with a nonchalant stretch. “I know you hate being left out,” he surmises, “so it’s only charitable of me to let you have a slice.”

Jaehyun laughs and presses Doyoung against the counter. He takes a second to brush hair from Doyoung’s face and dried frosting from his cheek, stalling until Doyoung glares in impatience. Finally, he looks Doyoung in the eyes and inquires unabashedly, “Does the cake know that if it wants attention before its birthday, all it has to do is ask?”

“Cakes don’t have birthdays,” Doyoung murmurs as he tugs at Jaehyun’s shirt. “Don’t be stupid.” He parts his lips and allows Jaehyun to swallow his pride for him in a sloppy kiss of appeasement and long-needed relief. Jaehyun hadn’t eaten Doyoung’s buttercream, but he still tastes of freshly made candied delight. He hadn’t toyed with Doyoung’s skin, but Doyoung’s body grows warmer with every slick slide of their tongues. He definitely didn’t wear anything enticing, but Doyoung’s hands wander along Jaehyun’s torso just to feel the worn fabric of his sleepshirt slide across firm muscles.

Jaehyun kisses Doyoung with more aggressive intent than usual, revealing that the knowledge of other members getting to Doyoung first crept under his skin more than he’d ever admit out loud, even if his tongue wasn’t down Doyoung’s throat. He turns his head to mouth at Doyoung’s jawline with small nips that leave pink patches in his wet wake. His breath ghosts over Doyoung’s Adam’s apple when he murmurs, “Want me to swallow?”

Doyoung tosses his head back in a groan and urges Jaehyun lower with shaky hands on his strong shoulders. “Yeah,” sighs.

Jaehyun kneels in front of Doyoung and tugs his pants and briefs down in one go, just far enough to pull Doyoung’s cock free. They don’t have much time if they want to be safe (though, really, after everything that went on in the kitchen that day, no one can complain if they walk in on this), but Doyoung’s been pent up for a while now so Jaehyun obediently opens his mouth and begins to swirl his tongue around Doyoung’s tip as he jerks him to full hardness. It doesn’t take long for Doyoung to start nudging his hips forward - a silent plea for Jaehyun to let him in - and Jaehyun opens wider, sucking in noisily around the precum coating his tongue. He can feel Doyoung shift - probably checking to see if the sound garnered any unwanted attention - before he begins to slowly rock in and out of Jaehyun’s mouth. Jaehyun slurps around the head as it comes close to slipping from his lips and twists his wrist at the base of the shaft, and he has to push Doyoung against a cabinet with his free hand when his thighs shake and threaten to give out. A swallow when Doyoung is edging deeper inside has them both whining in anticipation.

“Shit,” Doyoung breathes, running a hand through his hair. “Can I just-- quickly?”

Jaehyun nods and makes a muffled sound around Doyoung’s dick in affirmation. He adjusts himself into a steady, seated position and relaxes his throat and takes a few deep breaths through his nose. Doyoung runs a hand along Jaehyun’s jaw and he follows the motion with a deep bob of his head, nose touching Doyoung’s abdomen at his lowest.

Doyoung moans, quiet and airy, and anchors a hand in Jaehyun’s soft brown hair. He pulls back until his cock is almost completely exposed to the warm air of the kitchen then thrusts into Jaehyun’s mouth, cockhead hitting the back of his throat and making him gag, but Jaehyun doesn’t resist. He accepts Doyoung’s fucking easily, slurping down saliva and precum as they mix at the corners of his stretched lips, tongue pressing up against the underside of Doyoung’s shaft. Doyoung’s hips snap forward at a relentless pace, eager to get off and probably still acutely aware of where they are. He pushes hair from Jaehyun’s face and watches as Jaehyun focuses on taking each of his thrusts in stride - cheeks flushed, eyes growing glossy, drool spilling from his tight, wet mouth. Doyoung’s breath comes out in shallow, labored bursts, muscles burning from his consistent lunges forward, sweat dripping down his legs.

Jaehyun can’t help the escalating volume of his groans and choked gasps for air as Doyoung grows slicker in his mouth and gives him less and less time to recover between each time he bottoms out in his throat. He grabs at one of Doyoung’s thighs but encourages him onwards with tiny, compliant nods of his head. With his free hand, he palms roughly at his own cock through his clothes.

Doyoung can feel pleasure tingling through his body and begins to move Jaehyun’s head to meet his thrusts, pace sloppy and out of sync in his desperate chase for more friction.

“Soon,” is all he says, to which Jaehyun grunts shortly. He leans his head back and shuts his eyes as he fucks into Jaehyun’s mouth with purpose, moaning on every quick breath out. The euphoria in his veins rushes to his abdomen and he grips Jaehyun’s hair painfully tight when his adrenaline spikes. His body tenses and his breathing stutters and he spills into Jaehyun’s throat in hot spurts, hips jolting at the stimulation of Jaehyun’s wandering tongue. He sucks in a large gasp and exhales a loud, unmistakable moan as he holds Jaehyun’s head still until he finishes coming.

Jaehyun swallows what he can but leaves Doyoung’s cock in his mouth, letting him settle down in his comforting warmth. It isn’t until Doyoung releases his hold on his hair that Jaehyun slowly pulls off of Doyoung, sucking up as much mess as he can on the way. When Doyoung’s softening dick finally exits with a _pop_ , Jaehyun gulps down what’s left in his mouth.

Above him, Doyoung is leaning against the counter with his head still tilted back, eyes shut as he catches his breath. Jaehyun wipes his lips on the back of a hand and stands quietly, startling Doyoung with a kiss to his exposed neck. Doyoung cracks his eyelids open and smiles.

“You know,” Jaehyun murmurs into the corner of his jaw, just under his ear. He smacks his lips together and grimaces. “I think I actually want some cake now to wash down the bitterness.”

Doyoung maneuvers Jaehyun’s head into a kiss and reaches to the side blindly, eventually finding the cake and shoving it away. It wobbles at the force and falls off of its dish, landing on its side. Its edge smushes in on itself, buttercream smearing against the countertop, and some strawberries tumble to the floor.

“Fuck the cake,” he mutters, tucking himself back into his pants as they stumble out of the kitchen and towards the direction of the bedrooms.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of important things i should be doing, so obviously i didn't do those things and instead rushed to write a fic for the best boy's day. this is un-beta'd and was done in a state of panic so pls be gentle! it's also still the 1st in some time zones so no one can drag me.
> 
> (and in case anyone was worried: the members are not harassing doyoung. the implication is that they've ~done things~ before and that doyoung likes their teasing, they're just so _annoying_. which, i mean... canon.)  
>   
> 
> 
>   
> say hi!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/negibun) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/negibun)  
> 
> 
>   
> have a delicious moodboard by [10softbot](https://twitter.com/10softbot/status/1095539455031689217) on twitter~


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